I learned to read at a very young age. Ma tells me I knew my alphabet by the age of two, and was reading like a seven-year-old at age three. I became a little bookworm, soaking up page after page like a sponge, or so my teachers said. My aunty, a primary school teacher herself, was wise enough to instil a great love of Roald Dahl in me, and before long I'd read all of his books, even the more adult-oriented ones. But the first one I ever read, and my favourite, was 'Matilda'.

What a heroine Matilda is! She was the first character in a book that I could truly relate to. She's smart, but her frustration at school leads her intelligence to manifest itself in telekinetic powers. I too was frustrated at school. Being so well-read, yet being taught things that I already knew, made me bored and hungry for something to sink my teeth into. (One of my earliest teachers misunderstood me in spectacular fashion; her end-of-year report on me seemed to have been written about an entirely different child.)

I longed to be placed higher up in school, like Matilda was in the end. I remember sitting in class, having finished my sums and spellings way before everyone else, trying to move my crayons with my eyes, like Matilda could. Oddly, my wish to be moved up came true - myself and a few others were sent directly from reception (the equivalent of kindergarten, I guess) into year 2, with classmates at least a year older than ourselves.

Like me, Matilda was well-read. Her feat of reading the entire library left me awe-struck - I'd never be able to manage so many books! I tried to read as many as possible, which has led to a knack for getting through books at a ridiculous speed. A couple of years ago, a friend of mine was astounded that I got through 'The Vagina Monologues' in less than two hours.

It was Matilda that gave me a strong sense of social justice. Bad people should be punished, no matter what their age. Luckily my family, and my lovely headmistress, were much kinder to me than Matilda's, but the notion of a a young person righting wrongs committed by their elders became an important part of my morals. (In another end-of-year report two years later, I pointed out to Ma that my teacher had made a spelling mistake. When Ma told my teacher this, she laughed and said "Yes, that sounds about right.")

But most of all, the fabulous Matilda gave me hope for triumph over adversity. In the end, Matilda doesn't need her powers. She feels challenged in her schoolwork, her teachers are nurturing, and she is adopted by her beloved Miss Honey. Even book-smart, uncool little nerds like me (even back then, I identified myself as a nerd) could find happiness.

Reading 'Matilda' was one of the more defining experiences of my young childhood, so it gives me a warm feeling to remember it. Coming back to it time and again was like meeting up with an old friend, and although it would have been a treat to have a real friend like Matilda, reading her story would always make me feel a little less lonely.